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Ash Wednesday Blues

Midnight on Fat Tuesday always came too soon.

Knowledge of it chasing us like dogs all night.

Midway through a sweaty, quivering delirious dance,

Laugh half done, falling out of your mouth when

The whistles would sound their alarms.

Police horses and their unsmiling mounts clopped along,

Herding us with a wall of horse meat like cattle.

Sometimes I would Moo,

Loving when some other warped person answered.

We took off our drippy masks, avoiding each other’s eyes.

Slogged through the garbage lined streets.

Night crews filed in to wash the remnants of frenzy.

Waves of vomit, glitter and urine,

Detritus of Magic,

running down the gutters, taking our smiles.

Weather on Lent was always more harsh.

If the river had gifted us Fog,

It was deeper and gloomier,

If sunshine, it accented the pain in our heads.

We squinted at each other through our

Hangover haze, tried not to notice

The Stink of Us,

trudging into work,

Duty bound.

I love New Orleans and I miss it every day,

Except Ash Wednesday.